


Valve

by fadagaski



Category: Druck | SKAM (Germany)
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23836144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadagaski/pseuds/fadagaski
Summary: David is having a really rough day, and the worst of it is how much he misses Matteo.
Relationships: Matteo Florenzi/David (Druck)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 105





	Valve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shei/gifts).



When David finally, finally gets out of the library, the night is black and cold and he huddles into his scarf against the sharp wind blowing. The other students in his project group murmur exhausted, somewhat spiteful goodbyes. They’ve been at each others’ throats for hours trying to mash together five very distinct film styles in a way that shows all their talents and none of their flaws. 

He can’t say right now that it’s been a success, not with how Jan stalks off into the dark without even a backwards glance. 

What’s that English expression? Too many chefs cooking the soup, or something. Matteo would just call it a fucking catastrophe, and he would be right. 

Adjusting his backpack, David sighs a cloud of white breath that whips away on the wind. His bus stop is at the top of the hill, and while it isn’t such a steep incline, after the day David has had - spilling his morning coffee, receiving a mediocre grade for a paper he worked really hard on, getting a stale sandwich for lunch, stepping in a puddle, and then four hours of relentless wrestling with his project group - every step takes concerted effort to perform. His eyes sting and water in the cold air, the breath hurts his nose but breathing through his mouth hurts his teeth, and he’s only half way up the hill when the goddamn bus arrives early. He launches himself into a staggering run, feet slap-slapping the pavement as his bag bangs against his back. He’s so blinded by tears he can barely see, can only hope the driver will take some pity on him charging up the hill, ragged air streaming like smoke behind him. 

He flings himself through the door in such an uncoordinated flail of limbs that he thumps his shin against the step and has to bite his lip hard to keep from cursing really fucking loudly. 

“You alright there?” says the driver, dry as bone. 

“Mmhm,” David replies through pinched lips. His face stings with cold but that’s preferable to the sick heat rippling out from his leg. He hobbles down the gangway, toppling onto the first available seat as the bus pulls away. One small grace to being so late home: the bus is practically empty. David leans his head against the cold-wet window and lets the engine’s vibrations rattle his thoughts into some kind of buzzing quiet. His leg throbs and throbs, but there’s little point trying to triage it when he’s in skinny jeans. 

The worst of it, the worst of all the shit that has happened today, is how much he wants to share it with Matteo, but he promised himself that he wouldn’t bother him. Not today, when Matteo has made the trip out to see his mother. Not when David knows how _much_ that taxes Matteo. No, there’s no way David could bring himself to burden Matteo with a bunch of trivial crap. So what if he didn’t get to eat lunch until mid-afternoon when his stomach was caving in on itself with hunger? So what if Jan made some off-colour remarks about David’s scene pitch and it took all of David’s self-control not to slap him in the face? It’s just stupid shit, nothing compared to what Matteo has to face every time he makes the effort to see his mother. 

David will deal with it. It will be fine. 

He closes his eyes, swallows hard, feels the sweat prickle in his armpits from his sprint up the hill. 

It will be fine. 

By the time the bus arrives at the stop nearest home, there are parts of David’s body so numb they’re in pain, and other parts that are in so much pain they’re almost numb. He levers himself upright like an old man, backpack heavy as a sack of bricks hanging from his shoulders as he limps back out into the icy night. His apartment block seems a mile away at the half-speed he can walk with the cold biting through his clothing to the sweat-damp skin beneath. There’s no one out at this time of night; even the usual gold patchwork of illuminated windows are mostly snuffed out. Theirs is on, though, so at least he doesn’t have to worry about waking Laura up. 

Fumbling the keys, metal so cold it burns, David shoves through the heavy metal door, trapped grit grating against the tiled floor shrill enough it hurts his ears. His breathing sounds over-loud in the quiet. Then, with a growing dread like a sickness in his belly, he turns to face the stairs. 

He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath of the marginally warmer air. Holds it just to feel how brutally his heart is hammering against his sternum. Lets the air out slowly through his nose. 

Begins the long, limping ascent up the stairs. 

He climbs. 

And he climbs. 

And he climbs. 

Breath rasping, ribs straining to expand more than he’s allowed them, his thighs shaking and his shin on fire, sweat stinging in the folds of his eyelids, he makes it to his door and almost can’t find the energy to dig his keys out again. Only the thought of his bed is enough to motivate him. 

The door swings open. David shuffles inside the enveloping warmth, knocks the door shut with a bit too much force, and rests his forehead against the cheap wood. This has been the mother of all bad days, but he’s home at last. It’ll all look better in the morning. He’ll be able to call Matteo then. No day is a loss when it starts with a call like that. 

God, David misses him. He just wants to hold him, and be held, and kiss him as they fall asleep. It’s like a fishhook in his chest, caught on the aorta, tugging harder and harder the further they are apart. Between David’s massive workload at film school, and Matteo zipping around between friends managing one crisis after another, they haven’t seen each other since _last_ weekend. 

And now it is _this_ weekend. If David doesn’t see Matteo in the flesh soon, he’ll - 

Behind him, soft footsteps on carpet. 

“Hey,” David sighs, pulling himself together so as not to worry Laura. He can have his absent-Matteo meltdown alone in his room. 

“Hey,” says a deeper, masculine voice that definitely does _not_ belong to his sister. 

David spins around so quick his bag wrenches him off balance, he has to throw himself back against the door to avoid crashing to the floor. 

Matteo, arms half-lifted as if to catch David, raises his eyebrows. 

David splutters incoherently before he bursts out: “You’re here?!” His heart rabbits in his ribcage. 

With a grin one-part cocky to two-parts shy, Matteo slips his hands into his pockets. “I’m here.” 

“But - What -” 

Matteo shrugs. “I wanted to see you.” Said so plainly, as factual as the rising of the sun. He wanted to see David, so he made it happen. Even after the day he must have had with his mother, and getting across the city, and somehow arranging for Laura to _not_ be in her own damn apartment because David sure as hell can’t hear her elsewhere. 

David’s throat chokes on such an upsurge of emotion, and now there’s goddamn tears in his eyes, Matteo looking increasingly alarmed as David scuffs the heels of his hands over his face like that’s going to stop the fracturing of the dam. 

“Hey, hey.” Matteo swoops in, loops an arm around the back of David’s neck, presses a kiss to David’s sweaty hair. He doesn’t tell him to calm down, he doesn’t tell him not to cry, he just tucks David into the hollow of his own throat and lets David sag against him. All that delicious Matteo-warmth and Matteo-strength, just there for David to glut himself with, and he does: presses his face in close, fingers twisted into clothing, they’re of a height but David curls downwards, likes the feeling of being wrapped up in Matteo’s arms. The need to cry - from exhaustion, and overwhelm - fades with every hitching, shuddery breath against Matteo’s skin. He smells warm and clean, detergent and shaving cream and a sneaky twist of marijuana, earthy green scent caught in the wool of his baggy sweater. 

“Come on,” Matteo murmurs. He hooks his fingers under the straps of David’s bag and lifts. David could almost float for how light he suddenly feels. The blood stings as it rushes to fill the trenches dug into his skin by the straps. Matteo places the bag down with an admirable flex of bicep that David thoroughly appreciates from his position. “Come on. Time for a shower.” 

“Unf. No.” David grinds his forehead against Matteo’s shoulder, wrapping his arms tight around his torso. “Tired,” he says into the wool. 

“You’ll feel better when you smell less,” Matteo says. 

David nips him in retribution. 

“Hey, save that for later.” Laughing, Matteo shifts sideways, hand sliding down to curve around David’s hip. Side by side, they shuffle away from the door at last. 

In the bathroom, Matteo deposits David on the toilet while he sorts out the shower, pale hand testing the spray until it’s hot enough. David slumps against the wall to watch under lids dragging heavier and heavier with exhaustion. Matteo shakes off his hand, turns, and rolls his eyes, smiling. “I can leave you to sleep there if you want, but your neck will hate you in the morning.” 

“Mmf,” David says, lifting his hands. Matteo obliges, pulling David upright and into his arms and then, clutching him close, Matteo kisses him, sudden hot slick mouth and the flutter of his breath across David’s cheek. David groans, fingers sinking into Matteo’s hair, still a little damp at the root from his last wash. The first flick of Matteo’s tongue against his has David moaning, loudly, right into Matteo’s mouth. The bathroom fills with steam swirling in eddies around them but David is blind to it, his whole world narrowed to the plush give of Matteo’s lips, the ridge of his teeth, his palms pressed hard and warm to the small of David’s back. 

Their mouths make an obscene sound when Matteo abruptly pulls away. David chases after him wanting more of that heat, but Matteo shakes his head. He strokes a thumb over David’s cheek, follows it with a string of butterfly kisses so soft and sweet David could cry again. 

“Shower,” Matteo murmurs against his ear. David doesn’t know how to let go now that he’s got what he ached for all day. Matteo has to grip his wrists and tug, gentle but insistent, until David’s fingers untwist from Matteo’s hair. Matteo kisses his knuckles, and David’s knees melt. 

With a parting smile, Matteo ducks out the door. David’s hands are actually shaking as he strips off his upper layers. His jeans sober him up a little, peeling them down to his knees and then, sitting on the toilet again, he works them the rest of the way off in cautious stages. The scrape on his left shin bled enough to stick to the denim, and the skin around is tender, will probably bloom with blue-green bruises tomorrow. Sighing, he dumps all his clothes in the hamper and limps into the shower and - 

Oh. 

Ohhhh. 

Matteo is a genius. 

The hot water is bliss on his tortured shoulders and strained neck. He flexes under the spray, scrubs his hands through his hair just to feel the tacky dried sweat rinse away. Shampoo, conditioner, shower gel and flannel: the cleaner he gets the more exhausted he feels, until it’s almost impossible to keep his eyes open. He fumbles to turn off the shower, staggers out grabbing blindly for a towel and does a piss-poor job of drying himself but his arms are just so heavy, all the blood replaced by lead oozing through his veins. 

There’s fresh clothes left folded on the toilet seat. David hadn’t even heard Matteo come in. The fondness seizes him by the throat again, makes him swallow hard as he pulls on sweatpants and a t-shirt, sticking to his skin where he hasn’t dried properly. He carries his bathrobe over one arm as he leaves the bathroom - then immediately puts it on. The rest of the apartment feels _freezing_ compared to the sauna he’s just left. All the lights are off except down the end of the hallway, David’s room gleaming in welcome. He walks steadier now, exhaustion still sapping all the strength from his bones but less fearful of his leg now that he’s seen the damage, knows how much pain he can expect. 

From the doorway, he watches Matteo arranging snacks on the bedside table: cheese and salami and grapes and the spicy peanuts that Matteo hates but David loves and oh, god, how he _loves_ this boy. This ridiculous boy with his hair drying messy from David’s fingers, the twist of his spine as he turns to look over his shoulder at David, the delicate arch of his eyebrows climbing up his forehead. 

“Creepy,” Matteo says, grinning. 

David could laugh, make a joke, but he doesn’t, he can’t. He’s helpless to the will of his feet walking him forward, the desire of his arms opening to loop around Matteo, the want of his mouth as he bends to press their lips together. It thrums through him like an electric guitar. Matteo’s hands land on David’s hips, tug him closer to kneel over him as Matteo falls back against the mattress, feet still planted on the floor. David follows him down, sinks his fingers back into Matteo’s hair where they belong and kisses him until he’s dizzily out of breath. He snatches gasps of air as he kisses along Matteo’s jawline, up to his ear and then down the length of his neck, the want pulsing through him enough to make David shake, make him frantic. 

“Hey,” Matteo murmurs lowly. His hands run up David’s flanks, firm and slow, to hold him by the shoulder blades. Then, with just a gentle pull, David is sinking down down down, all the trembling strength in his muscles gone. Laying completely atop Matteo, head to hip, his face is smothered in the duvet, chin pressing hard into Matteo’s bony shoulder. He’s warm and shivery all over, strung out with stress and desire even as the last of his fuel runs empty. 

Matteo sinks a hand into his hair, runs the other hand in long strokes down David’s spine. David listens to Matteo breathe, listens to him swallow, feels his heart thudding inches from his own. When his fingers have stopped shaking, he rolls off Matteo, stretching his legs out from their cramped kneel. Matteo shuffles onto his side. In sync, their hands clasp at each other, fingers playing together. 

Matteo smiles softly. “How was your day, dear?” The words themselves are frivolous, but his tone is gentle, receptive: David thinks that he really does want to know. 

But Matteo’s day has been far more stressful. Frowning, David rubs his thumb over the back of Matteo’s hand. “I should be asking you that.” 

Matteo shrugs one shoulder. “Nothing unexpected. We had coffee and watched some TV.” Then, still holding David’s hand, he knocks a knuckle against David’s temple. “What’s going on in there? You weren’t happy when you came home.” 

It’s so stupid, but even just the memory of how he felt dragging himself through the door is enough to have David welling up again. He scowls, closes his eyes and turns his face into the duvet until the feeling passes. 

When he comes back up for air, Matteo is watching, a pinch between his brows. 

“It was just - a really shit day. Just. Lots of stupid things going wrong. And -” His breath hitches. “And I missed you.” 

Mouth turning down at the corners, Matteo says, “You could’ve called.” 

David bites his lip. “I didn’t want to interrupt your day.” 

Matteo is silent. 

David worries his lip even more, eyes flicking across Matteo’s face in flashes. 

“Please,” Matteo finally says, his voice gone rough. “ _Please_ , interrupt. Any time. Whatever I’m doing or whatever you’re doing.” He chokes a little, eyes gone wet. David clutches his hand tighter. “If you need me, call me.” 

Surging in, David kisses Matteo with a wet open mouth. “I will,” he gasps against Matteo’s lips, “I will, I promise.” Anything to stop that look, like David is splintering his heart. 

They kiss themselves to mellowness again. David basks in the warmth like a lizard, Matteo’s lips across his face gentling him halfway to slumber. 

“Did you eat dinner?” Matteo murmurs. 

David shakes his head. He only opens his eyes when the soporific heat source rolls away. “Nnngh.” 

“It’s okay.” Matteo scoots back into place. “Close your eyes.” In the dark, Matteo becomes his whole world again. “Open your mouth.” 

He knows it’s coming, but it’s still extraordinarily erotic to feel Matteo’s fingers against his lips as he feeds David a cube of cheese, then a slice of salami, a fat grape, a couple of spicy peanuts. A slow, steady stream of food enters David’s mouth, each one accompanied by the stroke of Matteo’s thumb sealing David’s lips, then a kiss pressed after. David is both aroused and calmed. Mostly he just lays there, his hand on Matteo’s hip cupping the firm bone, and accepts whatever Matteo wants to give him. 

When he’s most of the way unconscious, Matteo shuffles them round enough that their legs are more or less on the bed, though they’re diagonal rather than straight. He pulls a blanket across the both of them. David rouses to cuddle himself into the concave curve Matteo makes, nose pressed into the hollow of Matteo’s throat. 

“I love you,” he murmurs there against the soft skin, kisses the words against the jugular from heart to brain. 

Matteo gathers him close, slots a knee between David’s legs, says against the crown of his head, “Love you.” Buries a kiss in David’s curls. “Sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've written a few birthday fics for Shei over the years. Some I'm quite proud of (remember the Death Note one?) and some I wish I could forget (oh god the Harry Potter one with the giant hamster????). I hope this stands the test of time. Happy birthday hun!


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